


Reunion

by OberonsEarring



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-12 21:18:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19583725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OberonsEarring/pseuds/OberonsEarring
Summary: Takes place after Uncanny X-men #11.  What should have happened :)





	Reunion

There were no words. At least none that they could think of. Both dead, now back to life through means beyond their own comprehension. Logan could see the blood – the tears in Cyclops' skin, the stab wounds, the bullet holes. And at his feet, a pool of blood from the enemies they'd defeated. 

“Scott.”

“Logan.”

There was no 'good to have you back', 'nice to see you again'. There was no moment that fell into the depths of heart – not now, not for a long time. They ran, then. Through the forest, and fast. The cops would be here soon, see the bodies of the Reavers and Sapien League, the Purifiers and their horrendous masks. They would blame the mutants for the onslaught. Self defense didn't count for mutants.

Logan had parked his bike at the outer edge of the forest. “You look like shit,” he told the younger mutant, not quite realizing the extent of the wounds. Scott was bleeding out and pale, but still trying to keep himself from falling over into the shorter man's arms. He would never do that again – he'd promised himself that much.

Logan knew a place where they wouldn't ask any questions. A little dive bar some miles out past Winchester. If Scott could hang on a little longer, he'd get him patched up, but hanging on was only part of the problem. Scott was getting weaker with the blood loss, losing consciousness.

Wolverine took his shirt, tied Scott to his belt loops, hoping it would be enough to keep him on the back of the bike. “Just hang on,” he whispered.

“Logan?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry.”

It had always been a battle of will between the two – who gave the orders, who followed the orders. Summers was a stubborn one. Always so stubborn. But, then, Logan was too. “Let's not start that again,” he said, pulling the man even closer. To feel him like this, to feel the weight of his body crushed down onto his own. Oh, how he'd longed for that. Dreamed of it. Missed it so terribly. 

They reached the dive bar in a little under an hour. Scott's skin was cool to the touch and his breath ragged. It took all of Logan's strength to pull the man inside and then down into the basement where the med kits awaited. Sewing and stitching, plugging up the holes in his abdomen. Ms. Reynolds even threw in a bag of blood. “Never know,” she said with a shrug. “Keeping that shit around comes in handy sometimes.

Ms. Reynolds went by ma'am to most, her first name unknown to her clientele, but for Logan, she was always punkin' or dear. She liked him, and goodness, she didn't know why. “He that friend you always talkin' about?”

“He ain't my friend.”

“Then why take care of him?” Logan didn't answer, and she took that as a sign to go back upstairs and deal with her customers.

Scott came to some moments later, drawing in a deep breath and nearly ripping out his stitches when he assumed a fighting posture – hands out, ready to grab and throw, kicking out to wrap himself around his opponent then blast his brains out through his eyes. Scott could be a vicious fighter when he wanted to be – thank goodness for the world, he rarely did. “Keep it calm, One-eye. It's just me.”

“L-Logan?”

“That's my name, don't wear it out.”

Humped over the back of the chair, Logan begins the difficult process of removing the bullets from Cyke's shoulder. Still dizzy, still weak, Scott apologized once again. “You did what you did,” Logan replied. “You can't take it back. All you can do is move forward.”

“With you?” He flinched. Not from the pain of the extracted bullet, but from the ache of silence between them. 

“You can take the bunk,” Logan said after too-long silence.

“Where are you going to sleep?” 

“I'll take the sofa.”

Still flush with his injuries, Scott was slowly moving to the bed, a little dizzy, his breath still a little ragged. But he made it, and without help. The bunk was shorter than he was, and as he laid down, his feet hung over the edge. He pulled the blanket up over his bare chest and tried to find a comfortable spot, but at this point, nothing was going to be comfortable, especially knowing that Logan was just feet away from him and untouchable. “Good night, Logan,” he said softly, and got no reply in return.

Three days passed as Scott came in and out of consciousness – a fever, reopened wounds. It was hard to keep the man relaxed, from overexerting himself. He had plans – he needed plans. He needed to go back out into the world and fix the wrongs. To be a hero again. But, Logan wasn't having it. “Keep it up and I'll leave. We stay here until you're healed, that's the bargain. Afterwards, I don't care what happens to you.”

“You're still that angry with me?”

“I've always been that angry with you.” It was a low blow and Wolverine knew it. He watched as Scott curled up into himself again, head on knees. He'd seen this look once before, and it was as striking then as it was now. “Sorry,” he muttered after a long silence. “Just not sure how to feel about you being alive again.”

“Well apparently you're not the only one who still hates me,” Scott replies. “Got an earful of it from Jono.”

“You got to understand his point of view. You turned us into monsters--”

“I protected you,” Scott bit back all too quickly, his own temper finally having enough of the rough treatment. “I did what was right, Logan. And you know it.”

“Wars end, Scotty.”

“But this one didn't.” He took a long pause, studied Logan face for some moments. “They were jailing us, attacking us, experimenting on us. The war never ended, just your need for the fight.”

“Everyone gets tired of fighting.”

“Then why'd you fight me?”

They had been lovers once. The two of them sneaking off into the wild places. Cabins and tents. Far away hotel rooms and rickety old shacks. There was a thrill to it – if Jean would catch them, or Emma afterwards. But, Logan left him. And Scott still didn't know why. “Your little stunt at the rally could have killed you.”

“Better than living like this.”

The words stunned Wolverine. “Scott, don't --”

“I was never your enemy, Logan. I would have done anything for you. Anything. And, I still would.”

“Don't do this, Scott. Don't start this again. It won't end well for us. It never does.”

“Maybe it's because we haven't tried.” There had always been other people. Jean, Emma, whomever Logan was seeing at the time. The shorter mutant ran through lovers like a marathon, or so Scott had always joked. But, it was never just the two of them. “I want you, Logan.”

“Scott --”

“Why'd you come tonight? You could have ignored it. You could have let me die.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

“I told Ruth that I'd look after you.”

“And that was the only reason?”

Logan poured a shot of whiskey, gulped it down in seconds flat. “You want one?”

“Only if you answer me.”

It had been years since the two men had shared a drink, had even been in the same room with each other without Logan wanting to tear the younger man in two. They drank in silence. One shot and then another. “You need to be careful with that,” Logan warned as Scott put his glass back down on the table. “You're not pumping on four cylinders right now.”

“I'm fine, Logan. Why'd you come tonight?”

“I don't want to get mixed up in your shit again, Summers. I want a peaceful life, off the grid --”

“Then why'd you come?”

“Scott--”

“Why'd you come, Logan? If you don't want to get mixed up in my shit, then why'd you come?”

“You would have died, okay?” He slammed his fists on the table, breaking the glass in his hand, spilling the whiskey out over the floor. Then calmer, he repeated himself. “You would have died without me.” He still cared for the man. That much had never changed, but he didn't want to fight anymore. He wanted to rest, wanted peace, even if he was the only mutant in the world to get it. But, that didn't change the way that he felt about Scott, and that's what made him so angry. No matter what he did, no matter how he threatened the other man, he couldn't let go of him. He couldn't live without him.

It started with the hands, the way that Scott turned over Logan's palm and began to pick out the tiny slivers of glass. Just that touch, that esteem had melted Logan and his anger. “I'll heal, Scott,” he said quietly. 

“I know,” he replied, getting up to grab the bandages. They were useless, as Logan's wounds cleared up before he even got back to the table, but they wiped up the blood and made a cushion for the glass. His fingers were tentative as he traced the lines upon Logan's palm. For once, he wished he knew how to read them, how to tell head from heart, life from death. There were stories in these palms – long, incredulous stories, magnificent and sad. Gently, he placed his lips at the center of palm, his eyes not daring to look up at his partner. “I've missed you.”

Breath heavy, and the pooling of heat in his groin, Logan pushed thumb against jaw, tilting Scott's face up to view him. Behind visors, he knew that Scott's eyes were closed, that he had closed himself off to the visual world so that he could feel his lover's touch again. A finger over lips, a soft kiss upon the tip. The heat of breath as Logan pressed his forehead against Scott's. “This is dangerous,” Wolverine said, feeling the rush beat of animal in his veins. “We shouldn't be doing this.”

“You say that every time.”

“And, I mean it every time.”

“Then I'll leave,” Scott said, his voice tortured with doubt. When Logan said nothing to stop him, he stood up to leave. Hunched at the shoulders thanks to tight stitches, and tired with loss of blood, Scott collected his things – the only things he had left in this world, and started for the door.

“Scott,” but the boy scout didn't turn around. 

Scott was tired of heartbreak. Tired of waiting. Tired of feeling used up and spit out by a world that didn't want him. And it wasn't the whiskey speaking, no matter how drunk Logan thought he was. It was the truth. “I'm tired of being the villain in all of this,” he said, his voice hoarse from his outburst. 

Logan grabbed his arm, pulled him back to down to the ground. “I told you not to do this, Scotty. It's no good digging up old bones.”

“You're not an old bone, Logan.” He shuffles around until he pulls himself free of Wolverine's grasp. “You're the man that I love.” 

The kiss was unexpected as Logan pulled the man in, knocking him off his already precarious balance on his knees. He fell forward, his arms grasping for ground, as Logan pulled him in over top of his chest. It had always been like this – this roughness between them – part love, part hate. Their two worlds intertwined, and their kisses hot and wet. Scott moaned as Wolverine rolled him over onto his back, not heeding the much needed stitches, or the pain of wounds.

Clothes are torn – and Scott complained – he didn't have many left, but Logan paid no mind, snipping them off his lover's body, opening up to skin – that precious pale skin beneath. Off with the pants and then his own clothes, the two relished in their nakedness, how it felt to once again know each other.

Logan nipped at the skin at the edge of jaw, a small spot that always made Scott shiver. In return he got a low moan through closed lips and the tension of body beneath him. “Relax, Slim,” he whispered into ear, “Don't overthink it. Just let yourself feel it.”

It was hard to calm his mind, and that was perhaps one of their biggest obstacles. Every word, every movement struck him with days of overanalyzing, days of doubt. The wrong look, the wrong words. It was why he needed the telepaths, or so Logan had always decided. It was easier for them to understand what he was chomping at the bit over, what he was planning for. They didn't need his words, just his mangled thoughts. And things hadn't changed one bit.

It took a careful touch, one hand cupping the back of Scott's head, a tender kiss. “I've missed you,” Logan finally relinquishes his feelings towards the man. Soft and slow, the kisses pepper across broad shoulders, down muscled abs. It would hurt, and Logan warns him of that, but Scott didn't care. He was used to pain. His whole life had been pain. He knew that Logan would just hurt him again, but right now, all he wanted was to feel whole again.

Logan helped Scott move onto his hands and knees, pillows on the floor, anything to stave off the discomfort. “Relax, Scott,” he repeated. “Just relax. Let me make you feel good.”

Prepped and ready, Logan centered himself between Scott's legs, one arm around his waist, the other hand guiding himself into the tight passage. Scott's head hung low as Logan pushed himself inside, the pain a surmountable thing, the wholeness something else entirely.

Inch by inch, Logan sunk himself deeper and deeper into Scott, listening for the hitches of breath, and the soft moans as he pushed further in. In other years, he would already be banging away at the man, a fast and furious pace, but Summers had the telepaths then to stop his mind from running wild. They kept him focused on missions, on the team, on the life that they needed to live in order to survive. But, tonight, the X-men were gone. And Logan found himself wanting to savor the time that they had before their world exploded again. 

A soothing circle upon spine, a gentle nip at shoulder blade, and Logan pulled a deep, quiet moan from his lover. “Like that do you?” He always knew the man was a sadist. Pain was all that kept him from falling apart entirely. Another nip and he quickened the pace, finally finding that precious gland inside of Scott. As he brushed against, Scott nearly buckled with the electric push across his limbs. “Logan,” he said quietly, afraid to be loud. Afraid to let go. 

“Ain't no one going to hear you down here, Cyke,” he said. “Be as loud as you want.”

Logan remembered this body – its long limbs, it's flexibility. Death had done nothing to change it. It made it easier to remember all of those little spots that would see his lover undone. On the bed, they changed positions again, with Scott on his back staring up into bright gray eyes. Logan smiled, one dark brow crooked, and he rammed himself into Summers for a second time, bending low to explore nipples and skin, sucking and licking and cajoling the man into a fit of deep-throated moans and exhalations. “That's it,” he said. “That's what I want to hear.”

“Harder,” Scott cried out as once again Logan skid across his prostrate. “Please,” he begged. “Harder.”

Logan knew that Scott would be hurting in the morning, but the beast within him didn't care. At Scott's insistence, his pace became furious, with teeth drawing drops of blood across his chest, sucking at those red droplets. The taste of copper in his mouth, the delicious groans, and Logan was sent over the edge just moments before Scott. 

Sweat sheened and sated, he lay down next to his lover, arm across his chest. There were no words between them for the longest time, just the two men finally happy in each others arms. “I love you,” Scott said. A sentiment that Logan quickly repeated. It was just them now. And if Logan had it his way, that's all it would ever be.

By morning, the talk turned once again to Scott's plans – finding the rest of the mutants, their final mission, their final hurrah as superheroes. Reluctantly – if only to save Scott from Ruth's prophecy – Logan agreed to it. “And after this, it's just you and me right?” he asked, coaxing chestnut hair behind Scott's ear.

“Yeah,” Scott promised. “After this, it's just you and me until the end of the world.”


End file.
